


Quite the Miracle

by Rhaiye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Children, Gen, John has a revelation, Sherlock doesn't hate everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 03:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaiye/pseuds/Rhaiye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John always assumed that Sherlock would hate being around children. He was wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quite the Miracle

It is an uncommonly beautiful day in London. Sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and just a touch of a breeze. John and Sherlock and sitting comfortably side by side on park bench. To the casual onlooker, they are good friends (maybe more, although that is neither here nor there), enjoying the first truly lovely day of summer. The detective's knee is barely grazing the doctor's, and his dark eyes are closed for a moment.

They are certainly enjoying the day, but behind the ruse, behind their comfortable positions and behind the doctor's smiling eyes as he laughs at something Sherlock has murmured to him (which elicits a similar, albeit more restrained, smile), the two men are there on more serious business.

A case has come to them. A woman is suspicious that a man that targets children has begun spending time in the neighbourhood, spending time in the park. They have come so that Sherlock can deduct. John is unable to say why the detective has chosen this particular case. It is far from the mysteriousness that he usually holds out for, but he seems quite determined. John has yet to point out the ridiculousness of the fact that they are looking for a man that is watching the children by sitting in the park and watching the children. He feels quite certain Sherlock would not understand the joke in this case.

John has a picture of the man in question on his phone, but Sherlock has refused to look. He wants to catch the man by observance only, doesn't want to bias himself towards or against anyone based on the implied guilt the picture will give. John had rather thought the detective was above all that, but he doesn't doubt Sherlock's methods.

The pair are quiet, and John looks fondly across the playground at the children screaming and running. He's always liked children, although he's getting to the age where he is beginning to assume that they are not in the cards for him. That's fine, though, he doesn't mind. Just the passing fancy of family that most everyone has at some point in their lives.

He hears a quiet hum from beside him; a sound of contentment, John would have thought, if he didn't know his flatmate better. Still though, he turns to look at Sherlock and finds himself surprised. The detective has a slight smile on his face, and what John would describe as honest to goodness affection as he gazes out over the playground.

As soon as this revelation registers with John, Sherlock glances at him sharply from the corner of his eye, catching the doctor staring. "What?" The detective murmurs, the sound quiet and low in his throat, before returning his attention to the playground.

John clears his throat conspicuously and also turns his gaze back to the park. "You like children," He states. It is not a question. It is an observation. Sherlock should be proud.

"Yes," Sherlock agrees. "Not so much when I was one, of course. Children are horrible to each other. But as an adult, yes, I like children."

John is still a bit shocked. He honestly has assumed that Sherlock would find children messy, loud, obnoxious. Clearly, he was wrong.

"Is that really so shocking, John?" Sherlock murmurs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes against the sun. He is almost startlingly pale in the sunshine, and the doctor in John makes a mental note to specifically feed his friend food with more iron. He's looking a bit anemic.

"A little," John admits, then shrugs. "Thought they would annoy you. Everyone else does, after all."

Sherlock snorts a little bit, which people generally take as derision but John knows is proper amusement. "They have the capacity to annoy me, yes," He drawls, shifting on the bench so he is facing John at a slightly more direct angle. "But mostly, I find them fascinating."

John feels his brows furrow down. He's not afraid to admit, he's a bit perplexed. "Fascinating?"

"Yes," Sherlock replies, one arm bent and resting on the back of the bench. His knuckles brush John's coat lightly, which feels like an accident, but nothing is an accident where Sherlock is concerned. It's figuring out why he does things like this that's the real trick. He catches John's eye, the look on his face quite intense considering the topic at hand. "I see everything John. Sometimes, I see too much."

The doctor catches a faint hint of a sigh, as if it's all too much for his friend. "What's that got to do with the kids?" He questions.

"I can't deduce them, John," Sherlock tells him, a spark of interest in his eyes. "I can observe them and tell you everything about their caretakers, but I can tell you absolutely nothing of interest about the children themselves. For example," Sherlock gazes across the park equipment and points out a boy in a blue shirt that is playing by himself in the sand. "That boy had eggs for breakfast, his father makes them scrambled before he goes to his job as a stockbroker. He hates his job, but it pays the bills. His mother had a miscarriage three, no, four months ago, may have been an accident, more likely the boy's father pushed her on purpose."

John is impressed. He's always impressed. He rarely even asks how Sherlock knows these things anymore, because whatever he says is always true. "And the boy?" He asks, because he knows Sherlock wants him to.

"The boy, John!" Sherlock says, louder, although he isn't yelling quite yet. "The boy. There's nothing. I don't know if he likes his eggs scrambled, or what he thinks about his parents. I don't know if he knows about his mother's miscarriage, I don't know anything about him. It's quite incredible. Everything that I see, that I can deduce about him has been chosen by someone else. His clothes, what he eats, where he goes. The only thing that is solely him that I can observe from such a distance is that he is playing alone in the sand. Doesn't have to mean anything though! Some children simply like to play alone in the sand sometimes."

Silence between them for a moment, before the detective speaks again in a deceptively light tone into the deceptively light afternoon. "They are quite the miracle, John."

John glances at his friend, and, rather than seeing the person Sherlock tries so hard to be (uncaring, uncanny, unloveable), he gets a glimpse of the man he really is. "A miracle," John agrees, not speaking of the children.


End file.
